


A-Z Lord of the Rings

by LearnToShareFeanor



Series: Fools in Love [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A-Z prompt, And sometimes they need a kick in the butt, Arrow - Freeform, Balrog - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Cirdan and Erestor are totally those old men at parks who argue for the fun of it, Crown, Death of a pet, Elves dealing with death, Elves sailing, Ents I Onodrim, Fall of Gondolin, Family moments near Yule, Galadhrim - Freeform, Happy Ending, Heaven, I'm not really specific with this one., Idril - Freeform, Idril doesn't take anybody's crap, Kinslaying, Lindir takes everybody dancing, Lindir's got a boyfriend, Linger, Maedhros muses on his vow, Miles - Freeform, Mistaken Identity, Mother elves can be just as stubborn as mother humans, Multi, Nerdanel - Freeform, Not All Who Wander Are Lost, Parent Thranduil, Protruding, Punishment for pranks, Quandary, Recover, Sometimes families are dysfunctional, Temper, Treebeard - Freeform, Unbreakable, Valinor, Whispers, Xanthic, Yearn, Zircon - Freeform, because why not?, delicate, elephant - Freeform, forgotten, glorfindel the balrog slayer, hangovers, journeys, lots of dead elves- the Fall of Gondolin, or girlfriend, shelf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 10,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnToShareFeanor/pseuds/LearnToShareFeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short prompts, 1 chapter per letter. The tags are in order with chapters, so I'll be adding more as I go along. All of these are Courting Mishaps verse compliant.<br/>A is for Arrow<br/>B is for Balrog<br/>C is for Crown (AdvisorofImladris)<br/>D is for Delicate<br/>E is for Elephant<br/>F is for Forgotten<br/>G is for Galadhrim<br/>H is for Heaven<br/>I is for Idril<br/>J is for Journey<br/>K is for Kinslayer<br/>L is for Linger (My Slashy Valentine special! No, it's not explicit. I wish.)<br/>M is for Miles.<br/>N is for Nerdanel<br/>O is for Onodrim<br/>P is for Protruding<br/>Q is for Quandary<br/>R is for Recover (Aglarien)<br/>S is for Shelf<br/>T is for Temper<br/>U is for Unbreakable<br/>V is for Valinor (PowertotheCosplayers)<br/>W is for Whispers (Ulan)<br/>X is for Xanthic<br/>Y is for Yearn (Ulan)<br/>Z is for Zircon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> So, in a desperate attempt to get rid of writers’ block, I’m going through all of my old stories and prompts. I never realized how many prompts I have that I never did! Most of these will be little one-shots, but the theme is A-Z. Do you have an idea of what the next letter should be? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Update: This is now finished, and all of these are Courting Mishaps-verse compliant. Enjoy!

                He was jolted out of reverie as he felt something tug on the covers of his bed. A small elfling, barely large enough to walk on his own, with tears streaming down from blue eyes looked up at him. “Ada, I’m scawed. Can I sweep with you?”

                He wanted to say no. It had been only a few weeks since he’d lost his wife to raiding orcs, only a few weeks since his world fell apart. Still, that was no fault of his son. In fact, he’d been riding in front of his nana when the orcs attacked, and he’d been lucky not to lose a son as well. “Aye. Come here.”

                It was several months before his son was sleeping alone regularly, and he hadn’t realized how alone he felt.

                Thranduil was an overprotective father. He knew this, he knew his son hated it, but he also knew that he’d never live another day if he lost his son. So when Legolas asked him to learn to shoot, he promptly refused. His son had thrown quite a tantrum, but had, in the end, given up.

                It was several months later that he found out Legolas had been learning from one of the captains. Enraged, he ordered his son to be on prisoner duty with Gollum. After all, sneaky as the creature was, it was no threat, and there would be plenty of armed guards nearby at all times. And then Gollum escaped. Unthinking, he ordered the guard who had showed the little beast mercy to go to Imladris to deliver the news. He ended up nearly chasing his son to the borders, trying desperately to bring him back to the caves, back to safety, back to _him._ No matter how many years had passed, he always saw- and expected he always would see- the little lost elfling standing at the foot of his bed.

                Over a year later, thanks to travelling Arda with a _dwarf_ of all things, his son had returned. Thranduil sent a silent thank you to the quiver on his back. An arrow took his wife from him, and almost took his son. An arrow gave him his son back.


	2. B is for Balrog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two of A-Z Lord of the Rings is here! Let me know if you have any suggestions on other letters. If I end up using your idea, you will be credited in the notes for it! As a Glorfindel/Erestor fan, there can be only one B.

                I stood upon the remnants of the 7th gate, my relief and sorrow palpable. My beloved Erestor was alive. Ecthelion, and many of my other friends, were not. But they streamed out of Idril’s secret passage, and suddenly I felt as if we had a chance.

                And then my world shook. I’d seen balrogs before, evil Lieutenants of Morgoth. I saw my closest friend die after killing three of them. But this one was rising up from the cave and onto the pass, and Erestor- _my_ Erestor- was there. And so I ran, fast as I could, and I challenged it.

                It knew my name.

                I began well, striking a heavy blow to one of its’ ankles before it could strike back, but that fiery whip wrapped around me, and I screamed. I fell to my knees and rose once more, striking again. By my third strike, it apparently was through playing with me.

                It was playing with me, mocking me.

                That sword crashed against my shield, I rushed, the whip came down, my shield arm broke, my shield broke. I struck again, its’ knee buckled, I rushed again, I pushed, it fell.

                I won! Erestor, Idril, Earendil- they would be safe. I won.

                Pain, more pain than I had ever known tore through me as it grabbed my hair.

                I fell.


	3. C is for Crown- AdvisorOfImladris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C is for Crown- I decided it went much better than my C is for Chess, which turned out kind (okay, really) crappy. Suggested by AdvisorOfImladris. Have any suggestions for D-Z? Let me know in the comments!

                Young Estel looked at his ada’s circlet, sitting on a velvet pillow in his rooms. There wasn’t anything insidious about it, or even ugly. It was a thing of beauty, twisted and shining silver with the occasional opal stud. Erestor’s was too, now that he thought about it. Silver, but with flecks of some blue stone. He studied the circlet once more, and then turned to the tapestry on the wall.

                Isildur. Isildur and his crown with wings like an eagle upon the sides, fighting his way up Mount Doom. Isildur, honorable amongst men, smiting down the slayer of his father. Isildur taking the ring to the mountain. Isildur betraying his ada, being slain by orcs, the kingdom falling to stewards.

                Estel wasn’t much of a brooder. Yes, he thought occasionally (although master Erestor never seemed to believe him, especially when he didn’t have last night’s assignment finished on time), but he was not one to sit in a room and just _brood_.

                He had the distinct impression that the twins were _not_ supposed to tell him that he was Isildur’s heir, that one day he would have to bear the weight of the crown. He glanced out the window to Lindir and the twins playing outside.

A crown is a weighty thing, he decided.  It was not a shining circlet, beautiful and graceful. No, it was a circle topped with metal, beaten down by the weight of its’ kingdom. And, far too young for it, Estel was bearing that weight. He would never want to wear a crown. 


	4. D is for Delicate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artanis- better known as Galadriel- muses about 'delicate'. I had to use her because we all know, when we first saw her on the big screen, in her lace with golden hair, she looked delicate, like china doll. In reality, she never was. 
> 
> Have any suggestions for E-Z? Let me know in the comments!

 

                Artanis was- and is- a lady of high birth, and her parents expected her to be just that- haughty, delicate, and pure. She should have stayed behind when they all left, but what would she do? Nearly everyone she knew and loved was leaving.

                So she left too. She took up a sword against orders from those who saw themselves as above her, many times just because they were male.

                She fell in love, too, but even then- _she_ ruled Lorien. All knew of the Lady Galadriel's power. Celeborn was just there to look pretty, anyway. As the fellowship looked upon her in awe, she knew they- except for perhaps Legolas and Aragorn- thought her delicate. Perhaps, she mused, she was. Just as delicate as an ember from a fire, waiting to spark.

                And when she did, she would no longer be ‘delicate’.


	5. E is for Elephant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Oliphaunts. Gotta love them, right? This one is Sam-centric. Do you have any suggestions for F-Z? Let me know in the comments below!
> 
> Hey! I now have a gmail that you can contact me at if you'd just like to chat, or to give me prompts, request gifts, ect. It's LearnToShareFeanor@gmail.com. You can find it on my profile as well.

                Oliphaunts- or elephants as some of the Shire-folk called them. He’d always thought they were stories! But they weren’t, and they were much bigger than a simple house. There was something about seeing the oliphaunts that made him hope, of all things. If he could see an oliphaunt, see something that wasn’t real come to life, could he make other stories come to life? Now, he wasn’t thinking of just any story. He wanted the stories that ended with ‘and they lived happily ever after’.

                He looked at Frodo, and he didn’t look well at all. Sunken eyes, pale flesh, slightly emaciated. He looked at Frodo, looked at the oliphaunts, and hoped once again for happily ever after.


	6. F is for Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! New chapter's up, tell me what you think! I've seen a lot of disclaimers on fics, so I thought I might add one on this chapter. If you've ever read Tolkien, reading this, you should know for a fact that I am NOT His Magnificence, the Professor. Have any suggestions for G-Z? Let me know!

                After the hell that the Fellowship has been through, it’s no surprise that, when they all (except Boromir) meet again, alcohol is involved. Merry is darker, Pippin is stronger, Sam has become a veritable lion, and Frodo- if Frodo was an elf, he’d say that Frodo was fading.

                Little Estel, who became Aragorn and Strider, and a thousand other names, is now just King Elessar. He is less wild, less free, but despite losing so much of himself, is somehow _more_ now that he has Arwen by his side.

                He took comfort in Gimli in Lorien, in Helm’s Deep, and he takes comfort in him now. His dwarf- _no,_ Legolas, he is _Gimli_ , and not yours- hasn’t changed much. He can still drink any being besides himself underneath the table, still brash, and rough, and wise in the ways of mortals and so, so much. He wonders if it is odd- of all the people he has missed during his brief return to Eryn Lasgalen, he has missed Gimli the most.

                Some things that were lost were forgotten, and they should not have been so- the Ring, perhaps, would have been destroyed sooner. His people, and Gimli’s, had forgotten about Celebrimbor and Narvi, and perhaps they would have been friends more quickly. There are so many things, and with wine swimming in his head, Legolas cannot name them right now.

                Still, when his dwarf kisses him, his lips are chapped, his beard is scratchy, and Legolas could have quite happily forgotten about the very stars in the night sky. 


	7. G is for Galadhrim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry I haven't been updating this regularly. This little one is just mainly to keep the creative juices flowing. Anyway, I'm pleased to introduce 'G is for Galadhrim'!
> 
> The mithril and topaz circlet referred to in this chapter is actually from Courting Mishaps, if you're curious.
> 
> If you have any ideas for H-Z, please let me know in the comments below. If I choose your idea, you will be credited in the chapter!

            *Twitch* “And I, King Thranduil the most blessed, the powerful ruler of Greenwood the Great, Lord of all elk and moose,” *twitch*, “deign to allow your people to trade with us for another decade.” *Twitch*.

             Lindir glanced surreptitiously towards his adoptive father, worry creasing the edges about his eyes. Lord Erestor of the Silver Fountain, and later Lord of the Golden Flower, and Chief High Councilor for Lord Elrond, was sitting still as a statue. Excluding, of course, the occasional violent twitch. He nibbled on his lower lip when he realized that the idiot King wasn’t finished. In fact, though they had been in council for a full three days, was still just beginning the ‘peace talks’.

             ‘ _If he keeps talking,’_ Lindir thought worriedly, ’ _There will be no more King Thranduil. And then what will all the elk do?’_ He bravely kept himself from laughing at the last thought, disguising it as a soft cough. His father twitched again, and he noticed with a frown that Thranduil’s eyes never left his father’s mithril and topaz circlet. ‘ _How rude!’_

             Then the young elf, not quite at his majority, chanced to glance over to his father’s left and see his favorite three Galadhrim- Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin. Lord Celeborn looked halfway asleep, and he could tell that Rumil was bravely holding in laughter. This was likely aided by Haldir, who had his hands over his youngest brothers mouth.

             Quietly, he rose and slipped out behind one of the pillars, only to go the long way around behind Thranduil, and knelt beside Orophin. His theory of a possible kinslaying was proved correct as he saw his fathers’ hand distractedly play with the hilt of his boot knife. His plans would have to move quickly.

             “Orophin!” He hissed, tapping the middle child on the knee. The young Galadhrim startled, and Haldir looked over to him curiously as well. “Want to get the Lord of the moose to be silent?”

             Now the looks turned from simple curiosity to evil scheming. Lindir glanced over again, and realized that Thranduil was still talking, and Lord Celeborn was still sleeping. His father was now tugging the knife just out of its’ sheath and then letting it drop back in.

* * *

 

             Most of the adults in Rivendell knew the story, but few said any names. The story went thus: a clever minstrel and three strapping young Galadhrim (or just brave, depending on who was telling it and if his father happened to be using the ‘eyebrow of doom’ on him), did the unthinkable. The youngest of the Galadhrim slipped out of the room and put birdseed from the nearby garden on the ledge just above the King’s head. The second crawled under the table and tied the King’s bootlaces together, whilst the eldest bravely distracted the King by asking him many donkey and mule related questions. The minstrel, meanwhile, held down the enraged beast of black robes and hair which held a knife in his hands.

             Around midmorning, the birds came for their seed, and, well, the rest was history.


	8. H is for Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: H is for Heaven. If you have any ideas for I-Z, please let me know in the comments below, and if I pick yours, you will be credited! Thanks! Is it just a thing that Erestor's cat is named Tinnu? I see it everywhere, and I'm starting to wonder.  
> Ada- dad (informal)  
> Namo's Halls- a place where dead elves go before they are reborn.
> 
> BTW, I don't own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, the Hobbit, or- well, anything Tolkein. I own the books, and in the case of LOTR and the Hobbit, the movies, so that counts, right? This chapter is Courting Mishaps verse compliant, but it can be read as a standalone. Pre-Return of Glorfindel.
> 
> Edit: I got some timing stuff a bit wrong, so I fixed it. Yeah, this is before Imladris was even founded. Oops.

          Erestor gently pinned back the elflings' hair, trying desperately not to snap at the Captain of the Guard's old dog as he did so. The mutt- Erestor generally was kind to the dog, but not today, probably not again for the rest of its' few remaining years- was prancing around as if it had done no wrong after a few hours of sulking at its' master's feet. The dog's name was called, angrily, and the happy dog let them be. Erestor was glad of it. 

          There came a time in every elf's life in which he or she was exposed to something so foreign and so horrific that they knew not how to handle it. Death. Elves did not die, not of natural causes, and Erestor had fervently hoped to keep Lindir away from the worst of it. The boy had, unfortunately, seen dead soldiers and orcs, but this was different. He had not  _known_ those soldiers or orcs. But he had known Tinnu the cat. Tinnu had gotten on in his years, and was no longer as fast or strong as he once was, and the current Captain's old dog had always hated cats. And today, the dog had caught Tinnu. The old cat had been barely recognizable, but barely was enough when Lindir had made his way to the gardens to find his favorite naptime companion torn to bloody shreds.

            Lindir still hadn't stopped crying. He had cried himself to sleep the night previously, and cried himself awake in his father's arms in which he'd finally found some sort of rest. Many elves, including the captain with whom Erestor had previously gotten along quite well, thought this was quite foolish, but Erestor had not been dissuaded. This, excluding asking for Tinnu to come back, had been the only thing young Lindir had asked for. Tinnu had to have a funeral. 

            So Erestor had dug a small pit in the gardens behind his rooms, and placed the poor cat's remains inside an old crate, and here they stood. He rose from his haunches and buried the box, putting up a small stone in which Tinnu's name and several designs was etched. Some of the elves of Lindon had been surprised that he was skilled in stonework, surprised even more when he denied it, stating that smithing was more his calling. He had ignored them, and he ignored them still. He dusted off his hands and spoke. "Here lies Tinnu, beloved cat of many years, and father of several litters of kittens, probably more than he is credited for."

          Lindir sniffed. "Ada, do you think that Tinnu is in Namo's Halls?"

          Erestor knelt next to his son's side once more. Though it hadn't been on purpose, the very mention of Namo's Halls had been enough to bring to mind his dead husband. "Of course." He said, thinking it would be very lonely indeed without any animals there.

          "What is it like for kitties?" He asked softly, digging his hands into Erestor's heavy robes. Erestor scooped him up and cradled him in his arms. 

           "Well, first off, there are many elves in Namo's Halls. And some of these elves- they are very lonely." Lindir nodded, frowning sadly. The idea of lonely elves did not appeal to him. "So the good kitties- and Tinnu was one- and the good dogs, and birds, and all other pets- they find the lonely elves and keep them company."

            Before Lindir could comment that there  _were_ no good dogs, as he had several times recently, Erestor continued. "And there are some very good dogs. I had a dog once, back in Valinor, you know." He felt the child shake his head. "Well, I shall tell you about her sometime. She was a very good dog. And she's probably with my brother even now."

            "Do you think the kitties are happy?" The elfling asked, and Erestor smiled, a little sadly. 

            "I think they miss us. But, when we sail, we will see them again. And in the meantime, Namo's servants set out fresh milk and the very best fish every day. And they have many little bells on strings with feathers and such that they can chase- and birds, too! They can chase whatever they want, all day long, and though they will not catch them, they have many, many little treats."

             Lindir snuggled up closer as the sky began to darken. He still hated storms, though he didn't seem to remember much of the night when Erestor had rescued him. "But what about naptime? He loved naps."

             "Oh, that, my dear, is the best part. There are beds made of woven elf-hair and many old cloaks, and they are all situated directly in sunbeams. And all the elves take care not to disturb them when they sleep." At that, Lindir was quiet, and they went back into their rooms. The little elfling peeked over one broad shoulder at the grave among the flowers. 

             "Bye, Tinnu." He whispered, hoping his friend found his own elves in Namo's halls. The ones that had Tinnu to watch over them, he decided, were very lucky indeed. 


	9. I is for Idril

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been quite a while, hasn't it? I couldn't think of an I word that I wanted to use, so today's chapter is brought to you by...... Idril! Who is actually surprisingly bad-ass. I mean, she did make an escape route unnoticed by anyone which was the only way that even a few of the people from Gondolin survived, is only the second elven woman to ever marry a man, gave birth to basically the Jesus Christ figure of early Tolkein mythology, and... well, she did a lot, and I think she's under-appreciated. 
> 
> Reviews make me happy! Also, if you have any ideas for J-Z, please let me know in the comments. If I choose yours, you will receive credit. 
> 
> I don't own LOTR, the Silmarillion, the Unfinished Tales, the Hobbit, or anything else by Tolkein, I promise! I only own copies of the books and movies. And maybe some fandom memorabilia.

                I am my father’s daughter, but I am not a son. I accept that- I also accept that as my mother died on the Ice, I must act as a queen might, though I am only a princess. I accept that in order to gain any power in Gondolin if my father, by some foul art, falls, I must marry.

                I accept all of that- I may play the foolish princess in public, but I am far more worldly than anyone, including my father believes.

                But I will not accept Maeglin. He is my cousin, and that should be enough to dissuade him from attempting to court me, but even then- something dark grows daily in his heart. And I have had enough of darkness.

                I will not accept that I cannot marry for love- I will have Tuor, no matter how many political games I must play with my father.

                I had my son, and this all know. I had my son, and though he was brave and strong, he was still a child when Maeglin came for him at the fall. My husband slew my cousin- and I wept not for his death, not for the blood on Tuor’s hands- but for that my little one had to see it.

                And this- this you may not know. I sailed, with Tuor, once my son was a little older, once I met the young creature known as Elenwe who would certainly care for him. I could not accept that my husband must die, and so we sailed. And now, unable to accept the terrible idea that none of my line shall choose to be elven- I have heard the rumors, thank you very much- I wait. I wait for my little one to come home, for my friends who have died to be reborn, and the friends that still live to sail as well.

                And this time, I will not accept a life behind walls.


	10. J is for Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been able to update lately. But here you go! Please enjoy. :-)

               Wind and snow and ash mixed and burned eyes and lungs; slowed down reactions, made them cough. Erestor didn't cough, and neither did Gilyā. Coughing meant breathing, and breathing meant life. While the city was being attacked, they fled in waves, she-elves and elflings first. His mother had waited on him on the other side; he wished she hadn't. He wished he could say that Ecthelion was fine, that he would be coming 'round the last bend in a few minutes. Instead, he offered her his brothers' circlet, and watched her collapse. After the first few hours, they began to move once more. His mother asked about lord Rog, avoiding the main question. He allowed it, and told her how he and his sister had rallied their house, and how they had been the ones to hold the final gate, to allow the frail and weak to escape. He didn't tell her that Rog's sister and Ecthelion had held hands and spoke together, quietly, about a possible future. A future that neither would see, unless there was peace in Namo's halls. 

               His mother did not ask about Glorfindel. The few remaining members of the Golden Flower, as well as all who had seen the fight on the pass, spoke enough. His mate had laid down his life, and when the King of the Eagles carried his burnt corpse to them, the rumors were confirmed. They buried him there, in ash, with rocks from a fallen city covering him. His sword, with its' golden hilt shone from the top of the cairn. Erestor had not taken anything from his mate's body, but his mother had, later on, tucked his mate's circlet into his pack of meager belongings. He had removed his own as well, as he no longer felt like the Lord of Silver Fountains  _or_ that of the Golden Flower. 

               Still, Glorfindel's warriors looked to him. Even as his mother was buried under a sudden landslide, and they had to eat the meat of the orcs chasing them or starve, he was forced to lead. Half of them split off when they met the valley; Idril and Tuor and Earendil to the coast. He, his warriors, and the remainders of Rog's house and of the Silver Fountain went to the forests. 

               It took many months of the Woodland Elves' hospitality for them to get back on their feet; in the meantime, they hunted to feed their hosts, the remaining women mended clothes; such things that servants could do. They left many weeks afterward, and seeing that there was a need, Erestor spoke. "Here lies the end of the great and powerful conquering Noldo! Here continues the journey of the Exiles, and begins the wandering of the lost elves of Gondolin." 

               It was many, many centuries later that he was corrected, by a hobbit of all creatures. "Not all who wander are lost, the old gaffer Elrond says, and I believe him. Take it from an old hobbit with too much hair on his feet." 


	11. K is for Kinslayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: K is for Kinslayer! Please let me know what you think, as always, and enjoy! If you have any ideas for L-Z, let me know in the comments. If I choose your idea, you will receive credit in the chapter.

                He had many names. Maedhros the Tall, Maitimo, Nelyafinwë. Kinslayer. Oh, what he would give to lose the last! What he would give to break free of the oath he’d given to his father! He would prefer Maedhros the one-armed to Maedhros, the Kinslayer. But no. He could not.

                He watched as Maglor, kind Maglor who loved little more than song, turned into a killer against his will. He saw his beautiful brother Celegorm, owner of Huan, turn to darkness. Caranthir, always angry, died in battle. Amrod- playful little Amrod- died in agony, burning to death in the ships. Amras went mad shortly afterwards, despite his hopes. Curufin- now, Curufin had survived long enough to have a child! He prayed to any of the Valar who might listen that the young one would not fall to the folly of his father, uncles, and grandfather.

                Truly, he thinks as he is forced, yet again, to kill his kin for his father’s oath, this time in Sirion, that there is no greater curse than the blind love a young boy feels for his father. For that reason, he had taken the vow, for that reason, he is now accursed.


	12. L is for Linger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For the MySlashy Valentine's thing- sorry I'm a day late! As always, this is Courting Mishaps compliant, set after CM. Please read and review, and let me know if you have any ideas for M-Z!

          When Cirdan himself burst into Erestor's office, he had no idea what was about to happen, but put a hand on the hilt of the hidden dagger in his desk, just in case there were orcs or some such danger. This day was the day of lovers, when well-paid maids watched over children for married couples or those who were seeking such a bond, elleth gave flowers to the males they cared for, and males brought forth fine combs, hunting trophies, or jewelry to impress them. Erestor just wanted the day to be over, preferably as soon as possible. 

          All elves, on this day, were off as long as they had no outstanding duties, so really Erestor should have been back home in his comfortable little house halfway between Imladris and the nearest village. But his son was past his majority now, and so to avoid embarrassing both of them by walking into something he really shouldn't be seeing, he made it clear that he would not be back home until nightfall. Truly, he hoped his son and his newest flame were enjoying themselves, he just- wasn't able to. His mind always turned back to blue eyes, much like his son's, and golden untamed curls atop a fair head. He swallowed, bidding such thoughts of Glorfindel (for who else would he crave more than life itself? None but Glorfindel.) to hide, at least until he was in the privacy of his room. 

          "Cirdan!" He barked. "What is the meaning of this?" 

          The old Telerin smirked, not the least bit frightened of the Dragon of Imladris, and promptly cackled. "Come on out, old elf! I've something you want to see!" 

          He rolled his eyes, sighed, and rose. Truth be told, he didn't mind Cirdan. In fact, he enjoyed the company of the older elf, and they would often seek one another out when they visited their respective realms. They sniped at one another like two dogs regularly, and often to the point where any observers sought to split them apart. None- or at least very few- would guess that Erestor missed the irreverence he was once treated with, and that Cirdan provided. Fewer still guessed that Cirdan, ancient of ancients, often felt young once more with him, and sought to argue more for fun than anything else. He grumbled and griped as he followed the bearded elf, as the elf in question growled and grouched right back at him, ignoring the wide-eyed passerby, and they made their way to the main courtyard, where Erestor promptly froze. 

          "See?! I told you you'd want to see it!" Cirdan crowed victoriously. 

          As he haltingly moved down the steps, a rider dismounted and made his own way to Erestor. And as Erestor looked into eyes so blue, eyes he never thought to see again 'till death or sailing, he decided he wanted this day to linger on a little longer. 


	13. M is for Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, this is Courting Mishaps verse compliant. Enjoy a few hints of Erestor's early childhood that I rarely get into. :-) Let me know what you think! As always, if you know a word for N-Z, please let me know in the comments, and if your word is chosen, you'll get credit in the chapter.

                Glorfindel wondered how long, how many miles they would have to walk to get to the end of their icy road. Early on in the start, there had been a babe born on the Ice; that had been the only new life in place of all of their deaths. Another day, another few miles.

                The babe had grown into a child, and had, on more than one memorable occasion, saved his fellows. Born on the ice, he had a nearly impossible to replicate sense of the shifting road beneath him. He knew, sometimes seconds, sometimes hours, when a part of the ice shelf would break off or the ice was about to crack.

                After the fourth year, Glorfindel, as well as almost all the other elves, had lost track of time. There was no sun or moon to guide their hours, only the ever-spinning stars. Glorfindel counted time in miles. A few miles- he’d saved Idril, failed to save his cousin Elenwe.

                Many more miles, and finally, _finally_ , something happened. The child, which he now knew to be named Erestor, screamed. There was confusion, and then Turgon himself wept with laughter, falling to his knees. There were many such cries ahead; born and bred on the Ice, the child had been terrified of the sensation of _not_ moving.

                Miles and miles to find their valley, miles turning into hours once the moon and sun came into being, and Glorfindel stopped consciously counting time in miles.


	14. N is for Nerdanel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, I was really stuck on N. Then, it hit me- Nerdanel! This one is fairly dark, sorry. I hope you enjoy! If you have any ideas for O through Z, please let me know in the comments. If your letter is chosen, you'll receive credit in the chapter.

        I weep. 

        I  _knew_ what would happen. I told him-  _begged_ him! I told him to leave one of my boys, my little ones home. Or they would not come back. 

        And so I weep. I weep for my little Amras, my boy, caught between drowning and burning. He told me- he came to me in a dream and told me- he burned. Burned, Fëanor! You took my son away from me and you BURNED him. 

        Oh, and Amrod. No longer Ambarussa are they; he is alone. And if I know him, and I do, he will speak against you. 

        You will make him pay. As I was made to pay the price of wedding  _you_.

        And I will weep still more. 


	15. O is for Onodrim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is here! If you have any suggestions for P-Z, please let me know in the comments. If your letter is chosen, you will receive credit during the chapter. Let me know what you think!

        His father had no reason to lie; Lindir knew that well. And when he had no reason to lie, he would not do so- it was that simple. Besides, if his father was telling an un-truth, he would use the truth itself to confuse, or simply omit things. He did not outright lie, so there was no way that "The Onodrim were real and they still exist, somewhere." was a lie. At least, not to his father. Still, until he heard the Hobbits accounts, and rode by Fangorn, he did not truly believe. Judging by the rather un-lordly snickering from beside Glorfindel (who was suspiciously looking away as he squeaked and looked up at Treebeard in awe), his father was  _very_ amused by his son's behavior. 


	16. P is for Protruding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, Courting Mishaps compliant. So, for this one, I just googled 'words that start with P', did a random number generator, and it just so happened to land on 'Protruding'. Boy, I had fun with this one and trying to keep it at the T rating or less. I hope you enjoy! If you have any ideas for Q through Z, let me know in the comments, and you'll get credit for the chapter if I choose yours. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

          It did not take a genius, which Erestor no doubt was, to know that he was not alone in his office. It also did not take a genius to know  _why_. Celebrian was meeting with the heads of household staff- she'd just came through his own office like a whirlwind- to prepare for the Yule-time celebrations. She'd only returned from her stay in Lothlorien just last week, and her poor husband and children had seen little of her indeed. Elrond had left only two days after Celebrian returned thanks to higher than normal orc sighting on the borders, and the twins were riding with their father. Which left only two children brave- or foolish- enough to interrupt his work while he had a blasting migraine. And he happened to know that Lindir was preparing in the Hall of Songs. He was taking his first performance as Head Minstrel of Imladris very seriously- not too seriously, Erestor hoped. Most of his music came from his heart, not his head, and his heart never abides with seriousness for too long. 

         He looked up from the letter to Thranduil he'd been trying and failing to write (any mention of the elf king brought memories of the disastrous prank a few decades ago, and thus made him laugh and forget about any sort of work), and promptly looked down. It was as he'd though- Arwen, largely abandoned by her immediate family, stood at the corner of his desk. Her bottom lip was protruding and her eyes were watery- if the redness was to be accounted for, she'd already been crying. Yule was not a time to leave one's children alone, in his mind. Without hesitation, he picked her up and sat her down on his knee. She promptly snuggled into his black robes, and her tiny body began to shake. 

         "Oh, Arwen, hush now. Your parents will be finished soon." He soothed her as best he could, but she merely looked up at him, tears running down her face. 

         "No they won't! They don't even miss me!" He assured her that they did, of course, but he had to admit there was truth to her words. The Peredhel family hadn't exactly been very good at sticking together this year. And then he had an idea, and hid his smile with a false frown of his own. 

         "You know, Arwen, my son hasn't been missing me either, though he's been here all this week. And I have some last-minute shopping to do," a blatant lie, Erestor had things done months before they were supposed to even  _start_ on them in most cases, "so would you like to come with me instead?"

         She looked up at him hopefully, and he scratched down a note-  _'Going out with Arwen. I'll be back before dark. You have some explaining to do. E.'_ . "Well, let's be off then, shall we?" He asked, and waved a quick goodbye to his scribes, who were deep enough in their work that they did not seem to notice him.

         They stopped by her rooms first to grab a winter cloak- he noticed with disapproval that even her nanny was missing. They went to his room then, so that he could shed his outer robes and grab his own winter cloak, and headed to the stables. The stablemaster saddled his large black mare and they were off to the markets. 

         He helped her pick up some things for her friends (and was quite disappointing when he was informed by the talkative elfling that neither of her parents had helped her with that this year), as well as picking up some extra odds and ends that caught his eye- a music box for Lindir, dried dates, oranges, and apricots for himself, a new quill-stand, as well as some multicolored inks- and they had their lunch in an inn. He wore his hair upbraided except enough to keep his black locks away from his eyes, and Arwen giggled every time someone asked if she and her father were enjoying their day out. 

         Near sunset, they returned to the bustling city and to panic. "ARWEN! Erestor, you took her without telling me?!" Her mother marched over to his horse as he dismounted and assisted his young charge. 

         "I take it you did not read the note I left you?" He asked rhetorically. "Arwen, why don't you go get your nanny to help you wrap these?" He asked, handing her the bag of trinkets- mostly candy, really. She happily planted a wet kiss on his cheek and ran off. Young as she was, she knew nobody stayed angry at her for long. And that when Erestor wanted something,  _nobody_ won the argument. 

         "The note? Get back- oh, drat. What were you thinking, you did not even inform her nanny!" Celebrian demanded in a shriek. 

         "I think this conversation can wait until your husband and sons return home. You  _all_ need a bit of a lesson." He stated, glaring harshly at her. She balked for just a moment, and he noticed his son near the crowd, clearly trying not to laugh. "Lindir!" He called to him, and the silvery-blonde head snapped up immediately. "Would you mind terribly helping me with these? Celebrian, my office, now." 

         One normally did not command the Lady of Imladris. Still, he thought as Lindir obediently grabbed his bags and the stable-master took his horse, one was not normally her uncle by marriage, as well as being her father-in-law by virtue of raising her husband. She grouched at him ineffectively for a moment before the patrol rode in. Her eyes bored angry holes in the back of his head as he waited for news- they'd killed a few orcs, nothing serious, no wounds. And, with the Lord and Lady of Imladris as well as their sons in tow, he walked through the libraries to his office. 

         "Sit." He ordered simply, taking a seat behind his large mahogany desk. The twins and Elrond did so immediately, while Celebrian huffed a bit before doing so."

         "When is the last time you spent more than five minutes with Arwen- all of you?" There was confusion all around. 

         "I don't quite see what that has to do with today, but- shortly before I left for Lorien?" He nodded. 

         "Thank you for your honesty, my Lady. Now, your youngest daughter has been completely without her mother for over a year, and when she returns, her mother wants nothing to do with her. What do you think that feels like?" He asked in a deceptively calm tone. He was rewarded by the shock followed by devastation on her face. 

         "Arwen knows I'd spend the time with her if I could." She objected, and Erestor shook his head. 

         "No. She doesn't." Arwen looked around six or seven in human terms- far too young to get complex thoughts like that. "And she came to me crying today because neither her mother, nor her father, nor her brothers- the latter three of you have been gone for several months- have missed her. At all."

         Tears were running down Celebrian's face- for all her attitude, she was still, by Elven standards, a very young mother. Elrond was very obviously troubled- as he should be, seeing as his own parents had abandoned him and Elros- and the twins looked absolutely guilty. Of the four of them, he blamed the twins the least. Those two were barely past their majority and were far more concerned with matters of sex than matters of the heart at this point in their lives. They also followed their father wherever he lead, including to the very borders of Imladris. He dismissed the twins shortly thereafter, promising that there would be more than just a brief lecture on their duties as older brothers if he caught them abandoning their sister like that again. And then he turned to their parents once more. 

         "Celebrian. You seem to forget the fact that you have household staff- including a Seneshal, for Nienna's sake- in your haste to prepare things. Go to your daughter, spend some time with her. Help her wrap her presents. Do  _something_ with her, else I will pack you up and send you back to Lorien with a long note to Galadriel and your father telling them what you've done." It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to tell them anyway, now that he thought about it. With that said, he booted her out of his office unceremoniously and turned to his Lord. 

         And all he said to Elrond was this: "I thought I raised you better." And left. If he had his way, none of those children would be alone on Yule- even if he had to make Lindir share his room with Arwen and bring the twins into his bed for the night. 


	17. Q is for Quandary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, I actually already had this one done, I just didn't want to post it until it was time. If you have any ideas for R-Z, let me know! If I choose your word, you'll receive credit in the chapter. Please let me know what you think. 
> 
> Translation: ion- son, Sindarin.
> 
> Update: I always want to write Lindir as an adorable little baby. And he is. But he was born in the latter part of the first age, and I needed to fix his age. Fixed!

           "No no no no no no no..." The mantra from the main room was driving him mad, so Erestor rose from his seat on the balcony and came into the room. Lindir was pacing restlessly, mumbling the same word to himself over and over again.

            "Lindir? Are you unwell, ion?" He asked. It was unusual, to say the least, for his highly confident son to be so- well, to be as he was currently. 

            He groaned. "Nooo." He groaned, and then jumped a little. "Wait. Yes! Yes I am! 'Tis the perfect excuse!" 

           Hurriedly, Erestor grabbed his flighty son by the arm. "Well, before you earn yourself one of Elrond's foul concoctions," Lindir's face twisted at that, "why don't you tell me what's going on? I am an adviser for a reason, you know." 

           Lindir sighed and thumped his head on his shoulder. He released a long, low groan. "Haldir asked me to attend the summer festival with him when we were out on the field today." 

           Erestor nodded. He'd expected something of the like to happen- the archer from Lorien had been watching his son for a while. "And that is a problem?" He asked. He was under the impression that Lindir was fond of the Marchwarden.

           "Not in itself." The elfling mumbled- for though he was over a millenium past his majority, Erestor would  _always_ think of him as an elfling. "But I told him I'd think about it, and Orophin asked me in the stables!"

           "Ah." He said simply, beginning to get the picture. "You don't want to cause a divide between the two of them." He stated knowingly, and Lindir looked up desperately. 

           "Two? If only! I was interrupted before I could say yes or no because Haldir needed him for something, and then  _Rumil_ asked me!"

           He could not stop the laugh, though Lindir smacked him in the shoulder for it. "Oh my, it seems you're popular this year."

           Lindir scowled darkly, and a little sadly, and it took only a few moments for him to determine the source. His son always had that look on his face when he thought about the only elf he'd had a long-standing crush on. And the only elf who had no interest in him. "And I take it Elladan already has a date?"

           He frowned further and his eyes got a little watery. He rushed to enfold the small Telerin in an embrace. "I asked him before Haldir asked me. And he said no- he didn't have a date, but he didn't want to go with me anyway." 

           Erestor scowled- the kind which had turned more than one idiot away from his family. "That was needlessly cruel." He stated, rubbing up and down his son's spine. Lindir nodded into his shoulder. 

           "And now I don't know what to do!" He cried. 

           "You are indeed in a quandary." Erestor agreed. "How about this- Elladan doesn't want to go with you. Take one of the brothers- preferably not the idiot one. And you go have fun." 

           Lindir's shoulders shook. "But how am I supposed to have fun when I have to deal with him there?"

           Erestor smiled knowingly. "Trust me. He will be stuck at this party, completely alone because he has spurned you, and his father will force him to stay for the entire duration. He will be  _miserable_." And, he thought privately, it would be good for the young one to learn his lesson. All too often, he hurt Lindir, and Lindir, forgiving soul that he was, simply let him get away with it. "And you- I'll tell you what, take Haldir, he asked first- you will end up enjoying yourself. I promise." 

           After drying his face, Lindir went off to deliver the good news to Haldir and bad news to the other brothers, and returned only a little later to get ready. By that time, Erestor had already finished getting dressed and had left for the main hall to oversee the last minute preparations. 

           Both of them were rewarded- there was a vicious sort of pleasure in watching Elladan shift in boredom while he was left alone on the sidelines. Elrohir was taking a turn around the hall with his sister (they had both taken the lecture to heart, thankfully), and had his own date, the daughter of some visiting dignitary, besides. And if he wasn't mistaken (he very rarely was), there was more than a little bit of jealousy in those eyes as he watched Lindir enjoy himself. Erestor shook his head and tried not to laugh. Lindir was certainly dancing enough- he'd been unable to choose, so he took all  _three_ of the Marchwardens. At least they could share. And that was that- he could no longer stifle his laughter as he went to the balcony. He quieted as he looked up. 

           "Thel, do you remember that one festival?" He asked the sky, expecting and receiving no answer. "Well, if you haven't told Fin about it yet, you might as well. I only went with Rog- sorry, Rog- because I felt you had asked me more out of pity than any real desire to see me." He chuckled a little and wiped a stray tear from his visage which was indeed ghostly in the moonlight. "Fin? I loved you even then. Maybe, with a little luck, Elladan will have your jealous streak." He smiled at that, a little sadly. And he went back inside when the wind blew the clouds to cover the stars. 


	18. R is for Recover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so if you don’t know- and I see no reason why not- Aglarien is freaking awesome. Read some of her stuff- happy endings for everybody! Well, almost everybody. Everybody who matters, how’s that? Anyway, R is kinda sorta? Inspired by Snowstorm and Snowbound by her. Even though it doesn’t involve romance at all. Eh, I got the idea anyway. This entire series isn’t inspired by her, so I don’t want to tag it as that, but just so you know- go read Aglarien. Go. Then you can come back, tell me if you have anything for S-Z, and let me know what you think about the chapter.

                Erestor did not recover from his mate’s death immediately. In fact, many, including himself, would say he never recovered immediately. But it started like this: he had to take care of the little prince. And then the little prince had other caretakers, like Cirdan and his family, and suddenly he was no longer needed. So his recovery stopped- and he was set back.

                And then the little prince sailed, leaving his wife and twin sons, Elrond and Elros behind. And the kinslayers came. Now, let it not be said that Erestor did not fight. He still has scars from that day in Sirion, when Maedhros and Maglor took those boys from him- but Elwing did not. She turned herself into a seabird and sought out her husband. And did not come back.

                Erestor took a large role in educating Elrond and Elros in those early years; but it was Maedhros they looked to for comfort when nightmares or orcs struck, Maglor they hearkened to for stories and songs. And then Elros made the choice to die as a mortal, and when Elrond should have fallen from grief, Erestor supported him-or, at least, tried to. And yet, before the idea of them being friends- more than just student and teacher- could truly solidify, Erenion came. And took Elrond away from him. And his recovery stopped, and he was set back.

                Now through all this, let it not be said that Erestor was idle! He went wherever he was needed- but his advice, when requested, was often foolishly ignored, and he was often left alone, adrift, on a sea of mourning.

                And then came Lindir. Now, when Lindir came, he did not want to open his heart again- every time he had previously, someone had stolen a piece or two and left it an open, gaping wound, which he would have to bury in ice and stone. But Lindir did something that they had not.

                He did not leave. The child did not _want_ to leave. And-

                “Lindir never did, right?”

                “Hush! I’m telling the story! But no, little interrupter, he did not.” Arwen scolded with a smile. She was old and grey now, and sensed her husband was not too far from his death. But she _always_ had enough time- or she made time- for her children and grandchildren.

                “And when the time came, Erestor was reunited with his mate. And Lindir tried to leave- but Erestor did not let him. And they sailed together, as father and son.”


	19. S is for Shelf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, they can't all be surprisingly poignant when chosen by random, I suppose. It's like- all the good S words like sacrifice, savior, ect., and I get- shelf? 
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Edit: Again with the timing thing! Sorry, in this verse, Lindir is a little kid- in Lindon. Once again, oops. Fixed.

 

          True desperation. And terror- these are the things that the little elfling felt as he desperately tried to get a leg up on the shelf- hopefully, high enough that the monster wouldn't get him.    

          "Lindir, what are you doing?" Erestor asked, clearly exasperated. All that frustration immediately vanished at the look of blank terror on the child's face, and the dagger, ever strapped to his thigh, was in his hand within a moment. "What's wrong?" He demanded, searching around with a clear gaze, ready to lash out at whatever was frightening _his_ child.

          Tears ran down his face, and he pointed to the bed in the far corner. He shoved the boy up on the shelf, perhaps a little roughly, and pulled the bed from the wall. Nothing. The closet door was abruptly pulled open, almost off of its' hinges- nothing but clothing, spare bedsheets, and a few toys; Erestor had little money, and so most of them were carved by his own two hands or bartered for with some of the animals he hunted or fish he caught. Young as it was, Lindon was still mostly a trade-and-barter sort of place. He had asked for leave from Gil-Galad to go to the place earlier, and oversaw its' building. At least, that was the excuse he gave- the truth was that he did not like his son so near battles and danger.

           He sat the bed down back in its' place and closed the closet door. The razor-sharp dagger stayed in his hand, however. "What frightened you?" He demanded, and cursed himself. His voice was harsh- it nearly always was- but he no longer had the ability to soften it as he once did, when he was a youth.

           Lindir looked at him, tears running down his face. "Spider!" And pointed.

          Erestor fought the urge to bellow, and instead nodded. There was, indeed, one of Ungoliant's spawn weaving a web peacefully on the windowsill. It was no larger than his pinkie, and he had to kneel, nearly touching the web, to see it. Without any pre-amble, he crushed the creature, and dusted its' remains, as well as its' web, out the window.

           The child had buried his head between his knees, and Erestor sheathed his blade. "It's dead and gone." Lindir didn't move, shrinking into himself even further, and he sighed.

           He moved to the shelf and stood, not yet touching the elfling. "I'm not going to hurt you because you are frightened, Lindir. Fear happens, and you are fine." He reassured. The lessons his mother and grandparents had taught him stuck; and he was sure that he, bitter and jaded as he was, was not the one to teach the young one the ways of love and forgiveness. But, much like the heavy oak shelf he was perched on, he could offer shelter and a firm base to stand upon. Without further ado, he took the child into his own rooms and quickly changed into his sleep clothes. He held the young one as tightly as he dared against the nightmares that would no doubt come and the winter's chill.


	20. T is for Temper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you have any requests, I request that you let me know! I'm wrapping these up, and for this one, I chose the word Temper. (actually, I just googled 'words that start with T, went to the second page, and found the first one that looked interesting).
> 
> Let me know what you think!

         All of his family had a temper- at least, those he knew of. Well- _almost_ all of them. Ecthelion looked at his younger brother and stifled a sigh. Erestor- the source of his current problem. He was being bullied- he was sure of it- but he refused to stand up for himself or tell _him_ so that he could fufill his duty as an older brother and beat the offenders to a bloody pulp. This last bruise had him scowling- it was right on his neck, where anyone could see- and he wondered why anyone would be foolish enough to hit _there_. It was far too noticeable and a dangerous area to swing at. Finally, when he had his brother cornered in between an anvil and his mother, he demanded an explanation.

         "Res! What is _that?!"_  


         To his shock, Erestor flushed bright red, and his mother started laughing. "Oh yes, my son, what is that?" She asked, laughing nearly uncontrollably.

         He discovered two things that day- the first, that Erestor was seeing one of Duilin's sons (that elf had a ridiculous number of children!). And the second, that when Erestor was embarrased, he could throw quite a punch.


	21. U is for Unbreakable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The FEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS!!! If you want to get a better picture of Gilyā as a character, you might want to take a look at Courting Mishaps. Let me know what you think!

          All of his life, Erestor firmly believed that his mother was much like the silver she worked with; bendable, certainly, but absolutely unbreakable. And then his brother was slain, his mate following closely after, and he looked to his mother for that quiet, unshakable strength, the will that could move mountains, fortitude to cross the uncrossable.

          And on that day, he did not see his mother bend like silver; like brittle iron, she broke.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: V is for Valinor, suggested by PowertotheCosplayers. Let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions for W,X,Y, or Z.

              In Valinor, Glorfindel had expected peace, quiet, tranquility, and the rest of eternity enjoying immortality with his mate. He was right- at least on the last part. 

              He had not counted on the twins meeting another set of twins- Amrod and Amaras. Who told him Valinor would be peaceful again? Plainly, someone who had not been the victim of four separate pranks in one day. Hurriedly, he curled up next to his mate (the twins were still terrified of Erestor), and shoved his head through the hole made by his elbow as he read. 

              "Fin?" He asked in clear amusement. Glorfindel could feel his chest shake and scowled. "Why is your hair green?" 

              "Twiiiiiinnnnssss!!!!!" He groaned, nearly sobbing. Poor Glorfindel had green hair, courtesy of Amrod, shoulder length hair courtesy of of Elladan, an unpleasant rash from Amaras, and live insects in his boots from Elrohir. 

              "I see." He laughed, and rose. Glorfindel groaned and tried to catch him, but Erestor shook him off. "I'll go have some words with him. 

              Glorfindel had expected peace, quiet, tranquility, and the rest of eternity enjoying immortality with his mate. 

              He had not counted on four servants attending to his every need as punishment. 


	23. W is for Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I decided go ahead and take your suggestion with this one. Whispers- when gossip is one of the main drivers of Midsummer Night’s Dance AND the start of Courting Mishaps- how could I resist? Thanks for the suggestion. All ya’ll readers- tell me what you think!

            Gondolin was many things; quiet was not one of them. Still, many scribes insisted on stating that it was ‘a pinnacle of learning, full of the most wise and stately of elves.’ He highly doubted any of them had met Rog.  
  
            When a scribe in the new King’s household, that of Gil-Galad, introduced himself, he was glad of the rather unexpected company. “Lord Erestor of Silver Fountains and the Golden Flower, I am honored to meet your acquaintance.”  
  
            He nodded to the much younger elf; he had the muscled build of a warrior, though he wore a scribe’s robes. “Both houses which I was lord of have fallen, young one. Simply Erestor will do.”  
  
            The young one smiled. “Thank you, my- Erestor. I was wondering, might I speak with you of Gondolin? The King would like some information about living in an isolated, hidden valley.  
  
            This was the conversation that would determine the creation of Imladris, though he knew it not. He willingly spoke with the young scribe, telling him all he knew of the logistics of the place; the techniques their scouts had used to remain unnoticed, how they had built such a large place in such a short amount of time, and the like.  
  
            The dark-haired elf seemed quite curious, and to his pleasure, even jotted down notes- too many in this age, in his opinion, depended on potentially faulty memory. They finished within an hour, and Erestor rose to pour himself a cup of tea. “Would you care for some, young one?” He asked, having not received a name yet.  
  
            “Certainly, if it would not be too much trouble. And you may call me Erenion, if it would please you.”  
  
            He accepted the invitation with a nod, and motioned for Erenion to keep his seat; he bought them both cups of the steaming liquid, and sat down a jar of honey- a rare commodity indeed in this war. “Erenion, then. Have you further questions of Gondolin?” He asked. He was surprised to realize that this was the first time since the last kinslaying in Sirion that he’d had a decent conversation with another elf.  
  
            “Yes, but they are of a more personal nature- I have always been curious about history. Would it trouble you too much if I asked? I will understand if you do not wish to speak of it.”  
  
            He debated for a moment before finally nodding. “Ask what you will, young scribe. I cannot promise I will answer all of your questions; but the ones I do will be answered honestly.”  
  
            His keen eyes lit up, and, not for the first time, he thought that he might have seen someone similar at the King’s court. Erestor had purposely signed himself up with Gildor’s Traveling Company. It kept him away from the politics of court, which reminded him far too much of Gondolin, and it allowed him to see new places; they served the King at this point in time, but after the war, Gildor had promised Rhun, Harad- maybe both. His first question, of course, started with the most common and incorrect statement (in his opinion) that had ever been said about Gondolin. “I have heard that Gondolin was the pinnacle of righteous Elven living. Is that true?”  
  
            And Erestor promptly laughed in his face. “Oh, child! I know not where that rumor started, but never a more false one have I heard. And I should know gossip- nigh everyone in Gondolin did it. And the ones who say they did not are simply lying; we were a walled city, and it seems that our favorite pastime besides jousting was gossip. We gossiped when we drank to over-indulgence, when we lusted over others, and when we gambled; we were not innocent or pure, as many suggest.”  
  
            Erenion seemed both surprised and discomfited. “But- we were always told that we should act more like our Noldo ancestors!”  
  
            He chuckled again. “Let me guess- you were told that by your parents, when you did something wrong?” Erenion flushed a little. “Ah. Well, we were told to act more like our Vanyar cousins, and I’ve no doubt that this next generation will be told to aspire to- oh, I don’t know, the King or some such.”  
  
            For some reason, Erenion found this immensely amusing, and laughed as well. The sound was infectious, and he joined in. “Forgive me, Erestor; I found that most entertaining.”  
  
            He waved a dismissive hand. “It has been too long since I last laughed. Will you tell me why you found it so hilarious?”  
  
            Erenion grinned. “I am only called Erenion by my friends, Erestor. If in a public place- I’d expect you to call me Gil-Galad.”  
  
            The younger elf left, and Erestor could not help it- he laughed.  


	24. X is for Xanthic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am determined to have this finished by the end of next week. Xanthic means 'yellow or yellowish in color'. I just Googled X words, don't blame me!

            “Xylophone- Xyro? That’s not a word. Xon- no. Xa- why? Why does this one word rhyme with nothing?”  
  
            Elrohir opened his eyes blearily and cursed the hangover that made his head pound. Being a Peredhel was a double-edged sword; he could out-drink almost anyone. But the next day- oh, it was awful. He groaned, but his brother just jumped on his bed, causing him to gag. " _Dan_." He moaned. "What are you _doing_? Do it somewhere else."

            "No! I have to do it here- what if _he_ overhears this? What's a word that starts with X?" His twin demanded. 

            "Sweet Nienna, 'Dan, just- Xanthic? That's a word. Go away."

            "Thank you!" His twin called. Elrohir just groaned again and covered his head with his blankets. He didn't know if Xanthic was actually a word or not- but he didn't _care_. Sleep was calling. 

            "'Ro! Xanthic's actually a word!"

            "Shut _up_!"


	25. Yearn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next to last chapter is up! Thanks for the suggestion, and I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think.

          Sometimes he felt tired, lonely; he wanted his old friends, his family. His son was good company, of course, but- sometimes, he did not want the kind of companionship that he could offer. Sometimes, he ached; he _yearned_.  
          There were days and nights where he could look out on the training field and _see_ his brother- and then the elf in question would turn around, just another dark-haired Noldo. And he would hear a stern mother chastising a child in a voice so like the one he remembered- only to find it was someone else's mother. Sometimes he could almost feel Glorfindel smiling- that bright beam which could light up a room. And sometimes, in the dark- his body would stir, for he could _almost_ feel those rough lips against his neck, drawing down to his shoulder, and then lower.  
          And after he was finished with these things, he would weep- for the brother he didn't see that day, for the mother he didn't hear, for husband whose lips were not on his when he awoke.  
          But sometimes, and this became more common as his wounds began to heal, as Lindir got older- sometimes he did not do any of them; he did not see the ghost of his brother in some young soldier, or that of his mother in some railing housewife. He did not feel his mate's possessive hands.   
          And he would yearn, and mourn the lack, for those days gave him the most hope. 


	26. Zircon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For my last chapter, I decided to go with Zircon- and then who better to do Zircon with than Gilyā? This was supposed to be playful, but she never listens; instead, it's a little bit of insight into her- the OC who was just supposed to be there for one chapter, but whose death I tagged as 'Major Character Death' by the end of Courting Mishaps and beginning of Namo's Halls and Cold Waters and Colder Elves. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it, guys. Let me know what you think.

          Stern. Hard. Unforgiving. Those who called her these names now might not be wrong; she was hard as diamond, brilliant and painful as shining silver, with all the rage of a great mountain flood when her ire rose.  
           But there was a time when they would have been wrong. When she was soft and malleable and bright as the noonday sun. It was where she had her name; Silver Spark. Gilyā.  
           To say she did not prefer one of her sons above the other would be a lie- a lie she told quite successfully to herself, to her sons, to everyone she could. But if she was honest, deep inside- Ecthelion was raised by his father for a large portion of his life, and so she did not truly trust him. At least, not until it was too late to truly matter. And Erestor- he was like her, so long ago, before she was bought by a husband who did not love her. And she wanted him to stay that way, so with her very being, she fought all matches for her youngest son's heart; none would dare challenge the dragon of the Silver Fountain!  
           But one did. And she knew, then, that her son's heart was lost. But at least she could still protect him from the outside world.   
           And even that failed. And from the words of those who died after her, she knew- she had failed in her most important self-appointed task. Her son had grown to be just like his mother. No longer bright topaz- not the hardest of gems, not the softest- but Zircon. Blue diamonds, and just as hard. And as cold.


End file.
